


Christmas in The Drunk Tank

by T0wer0fStrength



Category: Manic Street Preachers, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Caretaking, Comfort, Drunkenness, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Snogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21989695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/T0wer0fStrength/pseuds/T0wer0fStrength
Summary: It's Christmas, and Richey and Nicky have had too much to drink. When Richey takes an ill turn, an equally drunk and gabbering Nicky looks after him and puts him to bed.
Relationships: Richey Edwards/Nicky Wire
Kudos: 9





	Christmas in The Drunk Tank

Christmas Day. Early morning. A cloud of hairspray wafted through the doorway among the metallic December breeze, and into the hall staggered a giggling pile of kohl pencil and leopard skin.  
“You're gonna be sick as a dog, Rich!”  
“Nicky, shush...you, you need to sober up...we'll wake the others....”  
“I need to sober up?” Said Nick through a broad grin as he closed the front door, his friend still leaning over one of his arms, knees weak, unable to support even a skinny frame such as his. “You're a fucking failed audition for Weekend at Bernie's!”  
“Fuck, let me, let me have a sit down...” Slurred Richey, taking a drag from a cigarette delicately poised between his fingers as he leant limp.  
A squeal as fur coats and white jeans careened into the living room, and collapsed onto the paisley upholstery of the settee, four skinny legs in a loose knot.  
“Shhhh...stop it...” Said Richey as boots momentarily flailed in the air. He’d barely managed to extinguish his cigarette in an ashtray on the arm, just behind Nicky's head, before this was sent cascading to the carpet, it’s off-grey contents carving a path from one end of the room to the other.  
“Stop what?”  
“Just....just shush...” he'd descended into a fit of giggles himself, at the mercy of the soft oblivion of Nicky's coat beneath him. “Comehhere....”  
Fingers with nails painted twisted into strands of Richey's dyed and tousled hair. “Nooo....youcomehhere...mwah.” A lipstick stain emerged upon his cheekbone. “That's for the most beautiful boy in Wales.”  
Richey nuzzled into his neck and left a gentle kiss in return. “Thank you.”  
“It's alright. It's just fucking truth, isn't it? Some lady, or some man, is going to be the luckiest person on Earth to have you someday.” A hand trailed it’s way from Richey's hair to his jaw and tilted his head slightly upwards, and heavy lidded blue eyes fixed upon on his lips. “So gorgeous, so intelligent. So...so cuddly. You melt me, sometimes.”  
Voices lowered to a whisper. Eyes met. Simply, “please, don’t let me go,” was the reply. “Please.”  
“I won't let go, baby. Don’t worry...never. We'll be best friends forever, you know.” Nicky mused as he leant back. When we're all old, all grey, yeah? You'll be... Poet Laureate or something like that, and I’ll be living on some island somewhere...and I’ll call you up and we’ll go for drinks, and...and....” he sighed. “We'll come in, and fall into each other’s arms...and have a bit of a snog. I'll still look after you, alright. I'll make sure you're okay, and if you ever, ever, feel like nobody loves you...you’ve got your old friend Nicholas, you know?”  
“What was that last thing?” Richey said, puzzled.  
“Me! Nicholas, Nick, Nicky...”  
“No, before that. You said something else.”  
“No I didn't....” Nicky said as he smiled and bit the end of his tongue.  
“Something about us having a snog. I'm pissed, not stupid.” Richey flashed his impish grin.  
“Hm? That might have just slipped out...” Fingertips still rested on Richey's jaw while another hand wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer. “Quite fancy a little snog right now, if I’m being honest...”  
“M-me, too. Now you mention it...”  
“Nobody around, though. Oh, dear. I suppose we'll just have to snog each other, won’t we?” Nicky teased him a little, inching his face closer and closer.  
“That's okay. I- I love your smile...” Richey felt his cheeks flush.  
“Yeah, yours is nicer, though.” 

Lipstick upon lipstick, gentle and lightly brushing at first, almost anxious. “You're so fucking wonderful. You know that? God, I can’t think of anyone more wonderful than you. Beautiful, beautiful boy. I love you so much.” Nicky whispered, and Richey, for the first time in his life, almost believed him.  
“You've got really soft lips.” He responded.  
“I know. So have you.”  
Intensity grew, makeup smearing across skin, mouths parting, making way for drunken, almost adolescent kisses, tongues and teeth tugging at the soft flesh of the lips. Hands began to explore among the scent of perfume and cigarettes and the taste of vodka and sherry on the other's breath. Fingernails scraped up and down the neck, small droplets of blood pooling as lips were bitten. “Oh, fuck...” Richey breathed. “Oh, god, Nicky...”  
“D’you want me to stop?”  
“No, no...”  
“Want me to carry on?”  
“Yes...yes, please...”  
Lined eyes closed once again, and a thumb and forefinger rested on Richey's chin and teased his mouth open slightly, tracing his tongue around their outline. “Because you asked so politely...” and then lips again upon lips. Breathless, Nicky's legs wrapped around Richey's waist as he kissed deeper, more desperately; trying to kiss the sadness and self doubt out of his best friend, before pulling away slightly to plant a trail of kisses from his cheek to his collarbone, Richey’s warm breath tickling his ear and eliciting a carefree laugh.  
Richey had been trying to ignore that all-too familiar fading sensation, until he couldn't any longer. “Oh... I'm getting hot, Nick...” his muffled lilt drew vibrations down Nicky's spine.  
“Mmm, me too, baby...” His voice was half a growl, and half a purr as his hands ventured lower, opening his eyes, looking up at the other man from beneath his brow. “What do you say? Little dirty secret?”  
“No... I don't mean, like, I mean...I’m getting hot, warm.” He struggled to his feet, before his legs buckled, Nicky catching him and holding his form against him.  
“Woah, steady now...” Nicky said, running a hand down Richey's back.  
“I'm so sorry, Nick...I’ve...i’ve had too much orange juice again. Think, think I’m gonna be sick...” Eyeliner and lipstick transferred to Nicky's shoulder.  
“Okay, Richey, baby, I've got you, that's it.” While still conscious, he'd turned limp and ragdoll-like in his arms again, skin now deathly white. Nicky propped his back against the cushions. “Let's get this off you, okay?” he began to shrug the faux leopard skin off Richey's shoulders, revealing a graphic t-shirt underneath. “Do you ever think... ‘oh, maybe it’s all the vodka I put in the orange juice that makes me feel like this and pass out on Nick’s side of the bed in the spare room'?” he asked, laughing. Richey stayed quiet, and his smile faded. “I'm sorry, Rich. That wasn't nice, was it?” He then stood, himself stumbling slightly, and placed the coat carefully on the back of a dining chair in the kitchen.  
“Nick...” Richey’s voice grew weary. “I really don’t feel well....” His painted eyelids drifted closed as the familiar spinning sensation came and went in waves, and his limbs fell heavier and heavier. “I think...I think I’m going to try and sleep...just leave me on the sofa. I'll be okay. I promise. ”  
“I'm not, I’m not just going to leave you.” Said Nicky from the kitchen. “What sort of present is that for everyone when they get up on Christmas morning? Oh, look, Richey’s passed out. Merry fucking Christmas. You're like that Uncle that wakes up during the Queens fucking speech with a Matchbox racer stuck in his mouth by one of the kids.”  
Richey felt the cold of glass against his cupid's bow, and the crinkle of a carrier bag in his lap. “Have a quick sip, then I’ll take you up to bed, if you like.”  
“Yeah, I’d...I'd like to go to bed...”  
“Okay, baby.” Nicky, who was fading slightly himself, resisted the urge to kiss his lips again.  
“Thank...thank you...”  
Chiming bangles as he took Richey by the arm and pulled him to his feet. “I'd carry you, babe, but I’m a bit too puny...”  
“It’s okay, Nick. You're beautiful the way you are...” Richey murmured. He felt his body lifted, head over Nicky's stooped shoulder. “Your smile...”  
“Can you walk for me? That's it...up, up we go.”  
They shuffled towards the stairwell and climbed the stairs slowly.  
“Nick, can we not climb up any quicker...?”  
“To be fair, Richey. It's not easy to climb the stairs pissed with a 5ft8 koala hanging around my neck.”

After a few wobbles, they tumbled onto their shared bed in the guest room.  
Nicky patted Richey's shoulder. “We made it. Proud of you, Sweetheart.”  
“Pass that, pass that carrier bag...” Richey placed it against his mouth, rolled onto his front with a last ounce of strength. He turned a clammy shade of green, and out came a lethal combination of alcohol and tar.  
“That's it, you'll feel better now.” Nicky traced circles into his friend's shoulder blades with his palms. “There we go.”  
Richey dropped the bag to the floor. “God, I’m so sorry...Happy fuckin’ Christmas, Nick.”  
Nicky laughed and rolled onto his back, before turning back over to embrace him from behind. “Here's your gift; a hangover.”  
“No, I’ve been sick, I won’t get a hangover now...” He sighed weakly. “It was that last cigarette, like, comes on so suddenly.”  
Nicky was struggling to keep his laughter quiet by now. “Are you sure that’s how it works? It wasn't...you know...” He began counting on his fingers, “the sherry, the vodka, the pints, the....”  
“No, no, I’m sure it was the cigarette. Always is.” Said Richey.  
“Anyway, are you sure you don’t want to eat before you go to bed? Even if It’s just a piece of chocolate or some fruit. You won't feel quite so bad in the morning.” Nicky asked, pulling him a little closer.  
“I suppose, okay...if you’d like me to.”  
“Let's get into bed first, shall we?” Nicky brushed his lips against Richey's cheek again.  
Richey tensed. “I'll be honest with you, Nick. I can’t really move. Just let me pass out.”  
Nicky’s smile faded a little. “Look, babe, what do you think I’m still awake for? It's the middle of December. You'll get cold.” He slung off his own coat and placed his hand on the underside of Richey's calf, unlacing his boots and removing them with such care that he may have been made of glass, that he might shatter. “Do you want me to help me with your trousers, too?”  
“What sort of a euphemism is that?”  
“It’s...no, are you keeping your jeans on, rather?”  
“Um, no...not very comfortable, is it?”  
He removed the jeans with just as much, if not more care, than the boots, before pulling the duvet up from underneath them and tucking Richey in, head propped up on pillows against the wall behind them. He half-undressed himself, before changing from his blouse into an oversized t-shirt and climbing in next to Richey.  
He reached for a box of chocolates on the bedside table, and as he opened it, cuddled up to his friend, one arm wrapped around his back, head rested on his shoulder. “Chocolate?”  
Richey nodded, and wrapped his arm around Nicky in return. “Thank you.”  
Nicky placed the sweet against Richey's lips, which parted almost autonomously. “I was saving these specially. Happy Christmas, Richey. I hope Saint Nick brings you something lovely. You've done your best this year. I'm so proud of you, and everything you've done for us, as a band, and...”  
Richey nuzzled closer. “Shush. He already did. Happy Christmas, Nicky.”  
“I’m sorry I used you earlier. I should have known we were both too drunk to know what we were doing.” Said Nicky, passing him another chocolate.  
“You didn't use me. It was a nice snog, like, you're alright, actually.”  
“Oh, stop.” Nicky laughed. “You're not bad yourself, you know.”  
“So, can I pass out now?” Richey asked weakly and shuffled downwards slightly, so that his head was resting on Nicky's chest.  
“Knock yourself out.” Said Nicky, and Richey exhaled sharply and smirked. “Only if I can play with your hair till I fall asleep.”  
“Night, night, Nicky."  
"Sleep well, Angel."


End file.
